


The Simplicity of Distance

by orphan_account



Category: Arctic Monkeys
Genre: Alex needs to get his shit together, F/M, Gen, I don't know why I wrote this, Matt's a good friend even when he's barely awake, Matt's along for moral support, Self-Esteem, The mind of Matt Helders, The opening band has issues, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1928253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Matt really wants to do is sleep. But instead, he watches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Simplicity of Distance

It’s a Tuesday night in a nondescript corner of a nondescript California town, and Matt Helders is people watching.

The dazed expression on his face is not only one of concentration but also a side effect of only being technically awake. Three hours ago he’d taken four benadryls with a swig of one of Alex’s famous margaritas, the full intent being to disappear into dreamless sleep right up until the bus rolled to a stop in front of the Vegas venue. It had been a pretty solid plan, he thought, assuming that it would make up for a couple days worth of hangovers and sleep deprivation that usually accrued over a tour of any length. 

When Alex had shaken him awake forty-five minutes ago, the first slurred words out of his mouth were something along the lines of “Am I dreaming?”

Alex’s reply had reached him centuries later, as though he were speaking down the longest metal tube ever soldered. Even then, Matt had a hard time registering it’s meaning, much less it’s significance. 

“I wish,” Alex drawled, averting his eyes. 

The minutes between then and now had blurred indecipherably and presently he’s sitting in a shabby waiting room, the chair just on the edge of too uncomfortable to pass out in, despite his best efforts. The movement of his pupils is the only thing that proves him to be alive, as he tracks the motions of others around the fluorescent- lit room. People watching has always been an avid past time of his because he's naturally perceptive and there has always been something slightly ridiculous to him in the notion of privacy.

If he had the energy for it, he’d be wondering why he needs to be here at all. But this is not the first place he’s ended up simply because Alex goes through periods where his self esteem is largely non-existent. 

A girl across from him is lovely enough for him to notice, even with her face twisted in worry. Her dress is floral and reaches her ankles, somehow managing to be both conservative hem paired with an edgy neckline. The boy sitting next to her seems to be attempting to comfort her and actually isn’t doing too shitty a job - leaving Matt to figure it’s either new love or true love. To his left a man is openly sobbing into a fake plant in a pastel vase. Opposite of him a woman murmurs out a prayer, punctuated by angry, vindictive swears that he can only assume are directed at the same deity she’s appealing to. 

Even in his detached, half-conscious state the misery of the room is wriggling it’s way inside him. 

Eventually he becomes aware of voices he knows, or should know, on some deep, sober level. A Georgia accent with the occasional reply from a Sheffield lad whose voice has deepened over the years, maybe by choice or nature or smoke inhalation or all three. A slight turn of his head and he sees them, padding through the sliding doors, conversing with the weird intimacy they’ve acquired. They’re speaking English but Matt can’t get a grip on it, and when they reach him he looks to Alex imploringly, expecting the words in his head to make it to his lips long after it’s apparent that’s not going to happen.

“Come on, mate,” Alex mutters, pulling him to his feet. Nadine grabs his other forearm, offering a weak smile he’s vaguely aware he can’t return. 

They’re standing on the sidewalk, in the cool dryness of a desert night, when he finally manages to whisper, “What the fuck’s going on?” 

They exchange an irritatingly synchronized look, before Nadine takes a long breath and says, “Mel OD’d a couple hours ago on oxycodone. She’s got her stomach pumped but they still don’t know if it was on purpose or not. I found her in our bus’ bathroom. Thought she was dead…”

Her eyes stray to Alex for a moment and he gives her another one of those strangely tender looks that Matt has never seen him direct at anyone else. 

“Anyways, Alex came for moral support and I guess that’s why you’re here too,” she says it with a sigh, and he can’t take offense because he knows she means none of it. 

I’m moral support for the moral support, Matt thinks dazedly.

The bus stands, monolithic, on the curb behind them. It’s perfectly blank, unsuspecting, and suddenly Matt yearns for it and his bed and an escape from all these complications he can hardly comprehend. 

“Melanie’s okay?” he asks blankly.

“They think she will be,” Alex replies.

“For now,” Nadine finishes. Another glance darts between them. “You guys are going to have to continue without us. Not just for the next couple days but maybe until we can get her some definitive help. Maybe you could get some local kids’ piano recital to open for you.”

Matt can’t tell if it’s a bitter joke on her behalf or if she’s serious, but in his half brain dead state it doesn’t seem like an awful idea. 

“At least finish with us for this last Vegas date,” Alex says, the panic in his eyes obvious. “Jamie can fill in rhythm guitar for Melanie.”

Matt thinks back to the time he found Alex and Nadine taking a nap in the bathtub of a Marriott, half-coiled around each other, waking up flushed and embarrassed at the unexpected warmth of it all. Matt had told Alex then that he needed to make a move, push things beyond a tour friendship because opening bands were as fleeting as inspiration. But Alex, struggling through one of his dips in his ability to validate himself, had been unable. And now the unavoidable had rushed up on them.

“I don’t want to leave her…” Nadine begins, but it’s clear she doesn’t want to follow her own plan of action either. She’s just like all the rest of them; young and driven and the only place for the young and driven is on the road. 

“Her parents will be here in hours, yeah? And you can come back here after the show…” Alex answers, the distress etched in his features. 

Watching them is becoming slightly unbearable, because even when he’s as fucked up as he is now, all Matt wants to do is scream at Alex, Just fucking kiss her, for fuck’s sake.

So he makes unsteadily for the stairs to the bus, and a few moments later he’s crawling back under his duvet and closing his eyes in a puddle of drool.


End file.
